Seeing the Great Gatsby

I have a personal relationship with the novel The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.  That book defines my love of American Literature in a way no other novel does.  But let me back up.

I first read the book as a junior in high school.  I don’t remember much of that experience.

I read it again as an undergrad at Western Michigan University in an American Lit class.  And that is where I fell in love. Hard.

With the Roaring Twenties. With the cynical outlook on The American Dream. With the emptiness of wealth.  With the debauchery and moral-less actions of the characters.  With disliking characters but LOVING the novel.

I went on to teach it every year except one during the past 12 years.  One of those years I had five sections of American Lit meaning I read through the novel five times that year.

I have watched both the 1974 and the 2000 film adaptations of the novel, despising both for a variety of things.  I tend to show the 2000 (by director Robert Markowitz) to my juniors for the sheer ridiculousness of it and because the 1974 version (with Robert Redford, directed by Jack Clayton and with Francis Ford Coppola as a writer) is so boring I would rather watch paint dry.

I think the thing that was most disappointing about both of those films was that I didn’t walk away feeling like I had actually seen the Great Gatsby.  Yes it was a retelling (mostly) of the plot, but the plot is not even primary to the novel.  The plot is not what The Great Gatsby is about.

Both films portrayed a love story…almost a glorified soap opera.  That was not Fitzgerald’s intent at all.  He did not write a story about people loving each other. At all.

When I heard that Baz Luhrmann was working on a screenplay of the novel, I had hopes.  High hopes.

I adore his modern music meets Elizabethan iambic pentameter in Romeo and Juliet and his over-the-top cinematography of Moulin Rouge!  Going in to the movie theater on Sunday, I expected a combination of both.

I was right.

I must also admit to stalking the movie trailers and predictions for months before the film came out.  I waited a week to see it and in that time drove myself batty reading all the fun satires and the scathing reviews.  The critique that I kept hearing over and over was “it doesn’t stick to the time period. It’s not the 20′s.”

Even though I had not yet seen the film I couldn’t help but silently cry out, “You’re wrong. I KNOW you’re wrong.”

Because The Great Gatsby is not a novel about the 20′s.  Although Fitzgerald put as much pop culture in the book as he possibly could.  He was a fan of the boisterous, the loud, the showy…look at his lifestyle and his wife for proof of that.

Fitzgerald was the one to coin the term “The Jazz Age” and use jazz music and the “black movement” in his novel…even though the people around him told him not to do it.  The warned him that it was a passing fad and that it would make his book unrelateable and out of fashion quickly.

Guess who was right?

The choice to have Jay-Z do the score–and include a contemporary “black/street” music injection to the movie–was not just genius, it was exactly up Fitzgerald’s alley.  It was totally Gatsby of Luhramm to do.

Hip hop is not a passing fad, just like jazz wasn’t.

The music also tied the novel to 2013 by showing how much has not changed about greed in America.  We are shown a 20′s setting with music of today and it fits. The 1920′s, especially in The Great Gatsby, were full of debauchery and greed.  How is that different from today?

But it wasn’t just the music I liked, I also liked the casting.

The men were the best cast. Leonardo DiCaprio is a “great” Gatsby.  He has all the created polish and manners that Jay Gatsby worked so hard to pretend to have in the novel.  Tobey Maguire is a good fit for Nick with his wide-eyed worried nature.  Joel Edgerton is by far the best cast Tom of all three movies.  He is aggressive an actually carries himself in the “hulking” way Daisy describes him as.  And Jason Clarke is a perfect George Wilson from his build to his hair to his bright blue eyes.

I was not as impressed with the female character casting. Carey Mulligan is an Ok Daisy. I’m not sure any actress can portray the Daisy Fitzgerald creates with his words.  There is always something lacking, and in this case Mulligan lacked The Voice.  She was too… likable.  I actually found myself feeling sorry for her, which I never EVER do when I read the novel.

Isla Fisher plays the voluptuous Myrtle, and does it well.  Luhramm has made her into the brightest, most gaudy spot in the desolate Valley of Ashes, just as Fitzgerald does in the novel.

Of all the film versions, Luhramm gives the best impression of actually having read and analyzed the novel.  He gets all the tiny details right: the way Catherine’s bracelets jingle on her wrist in the apartment party, the way the phone book drops to the floor in the hotel room, and the way the clock tips and falls at Nick’s house.

Speaking of Nick’s house, my favorite scene in the novel is when he has Daisy over for tea and Gatsby “drops by,” so when the scene was approaching in the film, I sat forward with my elbows on my knees.

(By the way, this is also where I started to look like a weirdo being e alone in the theater and saying the lines along with the characters.)

Luhramm gets this perfect.  From the way Gatsby is totally distracted, almost angry as he waits with Nick in a room that is packed with white flowers to how tense it is when Gatsby stands against the mantel (and the clock) looking down and Nick and Daisy with unease.

It is exactly…exactly…how I picture it when I read.  In fact, I found myself laughing at Gatsby standing in the rain at the front door the same way my students do when I read that section out loud.

For all the criticism the film is getting–when you do an adaptation of the Great American Novel, you sort of open yourself to it–I think Fitzgerald would have been happy with the outcome.

Of course there are things I didn’t like.  While I like the frame that Nick is writing this story down after the fact (that is true to the novel, by the way.  Nick actually says to the readers, “as I glance over all I have written so far…”), I can’t get behind Nick writing the story from the inside of a sanitarium.

I don’t believe Nick “cracked up” at the end of the novel.

I don’t believe he was an alcoholic, let alone a recovering one.

Nick is one of the most infamous unreliable narrator of all time, but I do not believe he was a boozer or insane.

There were also things Luhramm left out of the movie, and things he added that sort of held the hand of the viewer the way you don’t get when you read the book, but after rolling it all over in my mind, I think it’s Ok.

For instance, I think it’s Ok we don’t get the scene with Gatsby’s dad or the scene of Gatsby’s funeral.  Those points were made in other scenes in other ways and to add these would be redundant to the film.

I was bothered that Jordan’s dishonesty was all but left out instead leaving her as just an aloof, jaded character.  I did like that everyone in the book is a careless driver, and that you only understand the symbolism of that you read the book.

I was also bothered that Gatsby didn’t meet Pammy the way he does in the novel. I think seeing her brings a different kind of twist in his “perfect” plan that Luhramm leaves out almost completely in the film.  He has Nick mention her, but only so Daisy can say the “little fool” line.

In the end, as I repeated those final lines of the novel along with Nick, I realized I didn’t have the same sense of empty delusion that I have when I read the book.

In fact, I sort of liked all the characters in the movie. I don’t think that is supposed to happen.

But maybe it’s because I was so pleased with how they portrayed the characters from the novel.

What I do know is that actually seeing The Great Gatsby is a different medium than reading it.  Images affect me differently than words do.

So I don’t think anyone will ever get a version that is just right.  Because you can’t do in images what you can do in words.  Oh, it’s beautiful and it’s wonderful and it’s a grand movie, but you almost can’t compare it aesthetically to the novel because to do so, you would be discounting something important and special from each medium.

The message of social class difference comes through in both though.  And of carelessness.

And of Gatsby symbolizing a great hope that might very well be pointless.

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter–tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther….And one fine morning–
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

 

fish school

Cort and I have said from the start of parenthood that we wanted to encourage our kids to participate in activities that they want to try.  Cort was a very active, athletic kid.  He played different sports until middle/high school when he focused on soccer.  I was the least athletic kid on the planet.  My parents had to drag me kicking and screaming to t-ball.

Cort ran around with friends and siblings for fun.  I ran if I was chased.

Cortney enjoyed riding his bike to town with friends to get baseball cards.  I steered my bike straight into the ditch because I hated it.

So far Eddie is more like his dad (thank goodness) in that he loves to be active.  He loves to play anything outside that requires physical activity and he loves to be included.

Eddie is very competitive, especially with himself.  If he believes he could have done better, he gets angry.  And unlike his mom who would have given up out of sheer embarrassment when she didn’t get it the first time, Eddie tackles challenges until he can conquer them.

He’s a bit timid, but once he learns there is nothing to be afraid of, he will definitely try.

So while Eddie is begging us to enroll him in ALL OF THE THINGS, one thing we insisted on was swimming lessons.

Eddie is all the way on the left.

Eddie is all the way on the left.

We live in West Michigan only a very short drive from Lake Michigan.  Cortney’s mom and step-dad have a pool.  My dad has a boat.  We have friends with a boat. We spend ample amount of time near water all summer long.  Swimming lessons are just not optional.

My mom made my brothers and me take them. I was terrible.  I still am terrible.  I can tread water for days, but I hate putting my face under water and I never mastered the art of blowing out of my nose.  Oh, and I can’t dive.  Never learned.  Never wanted to.

Cortney’s mom made them take swimming lessons as well.  He and his siblings grew up on boats, and it was part of the deal that you could not be on the docks without your life jacket unless you passed a certain level of swimming lesson.  Cort is an awesome swimmer as far as your average swimmer goes.

Eddie practices kicking and "scooping" on the noodle.

Eddie practices kicking and “scooping” on the noodle.

Eddie has always loved the water, but last year he really came out of his shell.  He stopped needing to cling to us in the pool or lake and started to venture out (with his life jacket on) on his own.  He even jumped from the dock while we were on vacation and off the side of the pool to Cort at Cort’s mom’s house!

We decided that this spring was the year to start lessons.  Eddie is almost four, potty-trained, and in love with the water.  Why wait?

coming back!

coming back!

We signed him up for the fish school (he he) preschool swimming lessons.  And he did really great!

Cort brought him each week (Saturday mornings for 30 minutes) to have a lesson with Miss Abbie and three other kids.  He got lots of personal attention and was not scared at all.

Each week Cort took him to the donut shop after as a reward.  Eddie would come home and tell me how he learned to “scoop the ice cream” and paddle like a penguin.

He really loved it.

Well, most of it.

keep the face up...UP!

keep the face up…UP!

He hated putting his face in the water, and he didn’t master the art of blowing bubbles with his nose.

And thus, he needs to repeat this level again next year.  Other than that? He got high marks in EVERYTHING.

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His first report card!

Every single other skill was marked as completed.  So this summer, Cortney will work with him on putting his whole face in the water and blowing bubbles with his nose.

Because I still can’t do that skill either.

Next up for the summer? Two weeks of gymnastics for an hour a day.  And that is it for the summer.  We decided two activities (one chosen by us and one by him) was enough since we have lots of other family fun planned too. Even though he wanted to do soccer too.

I love that Eddie is excited and wants to do ALL THE THINGS, but how many is “enough”?

And really, sometimes I feel like maybe three is too young, but other times I feel like people are starting their kids out of the womb!  What do you think?

He is Now a Role Model

A couple weeks ago, Cortney made his graduation from college official by participating in commencement. I proudly sat in the super hot field house packed tightly on a folding chair between my sister-in-law (bless her heart sitting there all first-trimestery) and a woman who was not tiny who decided to sit sideways in her seat which means her left thigh/butt cheek was all pressed on my thigh all the while a small boy about Eddie’s age sat backward in his folding chair in front of me swinging his legs and bruising up my shins nicely.

I fanned myself with the program.  You know…the program that had this in it:

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We craned our necks and saw him walk in.  One WOO WOO from Cort’s mom and he knew where we were seated, which meant that later, after all the speakers and honorary what-have-you’s when he was up front waiting to walk across the stage, he and I could exchange big stupid grins from across the huge field house.

Normally, the speeches and everything bore me to death, but I sort of paid attention to the commencement address this time (partly because she polled the audience to see how many people actually remember any of the graduation speeches they have ever heard and I could not raise my hand…which is especially sad not just because I sit through high school graduation every single year, but because some of those speeches? I helped write. Oops).

Anyway, the speech.  Her theme was Everything You Need to Know you Learned at GRCC.  It was cute and quirky and she even interviewed specific students to use their anecdotes. It was nice.

Most of that stuff I don’t remember.

What I do remember is that she told the graduates that they learned to be role models.

She, also a community college grad, related to the graduating class about WHY people choose to go to community college:  some for financial reasons…to get those “gen eds” out of the way on the cheap, but many many are there because of a negative reason: nowhere else would take them.

It brought me back to the night Cort got his honors medal.  Each student awarded was able to say a few words upon acceptance.  One beautiful young girl (young to me, she was probably in her 20′s) took the mic and told us that she had all the staff to thank.  She came to GRCC as a high school dropout who had messed up in every possible way, and now she was graduating with the highest honors the college could bestow upon her.

My eyes teared up.

Cort was not a high school dropout, but he didn’t do his best the first time he did college.  He wasn’t focused, he didn’t know what he wanted out of college, and he was just not ready.  He had been an Ok student in high school, but there you didn’t have to have a focus other than finishing the courses the counselors told you to do.  College was different, and after two years in two different universities, he left for the work world.

Five years ago, he and I sat down to talk about how much he hated his job at the time.  We talked about going back to school.

“For what? Sales? I hate my job,” he lamented.

“If you could get paid to do anything, what would it be?” I asked him (as I have asked innumerable students in the past)

“I don’t know. Computer stuff?”

“There are a million ‘computer stuff’ degrees…and those people make nice money, babe.”

And so off he went.  Full of doubt, but focused.

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In the five years that he was in school, he lost a job and gained a job.

He became a dad.

He lost both grandpas.

He became an uncle.

He gained four new in-laws.

He survived a wife with mood disorders.

He supported his family even when he needed to do homework…and he still got A’s.

He became a role model to many, many people, but mostly to our sons.

One thing our family values is education (in case you didn’t notice).  When we did our “priceless conversation” with our will, we talked extensively about the importance of education.  Of knowledge. Of being a life-long learner.

When I was in 6th grade, my mom decided to pursue a dream of hers and went back to school to study accounting.  She graduated from college the same spring I graded from high school.  That has had an enormous impact on me.  It has fueled my belief that you don’t say no to your dreams.  You don’t say no to a thirst for knowledge.

Cortney’s Gram (along with his Gramps) raised eight children, fostered a bazillion, and loved all those kids’ friends like her own.  She played piano and organ for the church.  She owned her own business (with Cort’s Gramps).  To say she was a busy lady is a massive understatement. Yet, she had a passion for learning and, once the kids were grown,  got her Master’s Degree just because she wanted to.  She was most definitely one of Cort’s role models when it came to making the decision to go back.

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Cort almost didn’t walk.  He was done in December and thought it would be silly to walk in May after he had been done for so long.  And for “just” an Associates.

I needed it to be his decision, but oh how I wanted him to walk.

And then his Gram told him, “You will never regret walking, but you most definitely may regret NOT walking.”

So he did.  And he wanted his Gram to be there, but she came down with shingles two days before commencement and couldn’t come.  But Cort’s mom and sister and wife were there.

2013-05-03 19.55.00

And we cheered so loud when his name was called, he admitted that from the stage, it sounded like more than three people.  SCORE!

I don’t really have the words to tell you how proud I am of Cortney.

He is now one of the role models our sons have for strong people who empowered themselves with education.  Who had a thirst that could only be quenched by books and papers and projects and class discussion.  Who wanted something and figured out how to get it.

why yes, I DID make him put this back on for a picture with the boys.

why yes, I DID make him put this back on for a picture with the boys.

We believe education is important.

And we have the degrees on the wall that prove that belief.

We are role models.

The Unassuming Mother’s Day

I have so many words in my head and heart for Mother’s Day.

So many mothers I would love to write about and give words to so they know what impact they have had on me…and how they continue to inspire me every single day.

So many different types of moms: laid back ones, working moms, stay at home moms, teacher moms, best friend moms, groovy moms, trendy moms, veteran moms, newbie moms, optimistic moms, realistic moms, dreamy moms, dreamer moms, hot moms, sad moms, hurting moms, waiting-to-be moms, past moms, present moms, my mom.

All beautiful.

All deserving of something extraordinary.

But this year there was no fanfare.

And I was glad for it.

There was no running around to all of the mothers and trying to thank every mother who has ever mothered me or inspired me to mother.

There was sleeping in.

There were boys pouncing on the bed.

There were new jammies that someone (ahem…EDDIE) had already told me about.

There were cards…one in particular with a “macaroni and cheese machine” drawn on it.

There were wet kisses and tight hugs.

There was fighting and whining and pooping in diapers and barging into the bathroom.

There were groceries gotten and laundry done.

There was feeding of hungry boys.

There was grading of long-overdue tests.

There was a bubble bath.

There was rocking.

There was wearing sweat pants all day.

There was this…

008

Smile as hard as you can.

And hold on even harder than that.

Mother.

So much power in that title.

I hope I do justice to it.

Do You Want to Play Basketball?

“You guys wanna play basketball with me?”

He stood on the very edge of our lawn in his shorts and hoodie holding a small basketball.

The other bigger kids continued to chase each other and play.  One kid lingered on the edge of their lawn near to where Eddie was standing.

“Hey! Do you guys want to play basketball with me?!?” He asked louder.

Even though the one kid was hanging near, he still managed to effectively ignore my little guy.

Eddie looked down at his Little Tikes basketball. I couldn’t see his face from my place by the kitchen window, but I could guess at the questions going through his mind. Why won’t they answer me?  Why wouldn’t they want to play with  me?

“HEY! WANT TO PLAY BASKETBALL WITH ME?!?!”

I called Cort to see.  Eddie was obeying the rules and staying in our yard.  He even kept checking his feet to make sure they were not over the line.  I could tell he was antsy to go run and play tag.

Earlier that day we had heard him yelling outside in the front yard, when we peeked out the window, he was yelling down the street, “HEY!  GUYS!  COME HERE!  I WANNA TALK TO YOU!” to the kids playing down the road.

We live on a dead end where the neighbor kids like to spend time digging holes for no other reason than to dig holes.  Eddie likes to watch them.  They also cut into the woods from the dead end and trek back to the field behind our house.  There’s a creek back there and they like to catch crayfish and frogs.  This particular afternoon, Digger Boy (the boy who digs the holes, and yes, this is the name Eddie refers to him as) and his brothers had a bucket of fish and frogs and they came into our yard to show Eddie and Cort.  Eddie thought it was just wonderful.

So for the rest of the day, when he saw neighbor kids, he wanted so badly to play with them.

They are all at least five years older than Eddie is, and have no interest in playing with a three-year-old.

But Eddie doesn’t understand this, and so he stands on the edge of the yard, doing his best to make friends without breaking the rules of leaving the yard.

“I’m going to put on shorts and go play basketball with him for a bit,” Cort tells me as he rubs my back.  I have been watching him with tears in my eyes for a couple minutes.

“Thank you,” I tell him before I call out the window to Eddie asking him if Daddy can play with him.

“Daddy?  He wants to play basketball?  Yay!  I want to play too!”

As I got Charlie’s jammies on I heard lots of giggling and chasing going on around the house before Cort and Eddie burst in all smiles and exhaustion.

Eddie is so bold and makes friends so easily.  He is so much braver than I was at that age.  I am so proud when I see him feeling comfortable talking to other kids, but I feel those old fears of rejection that I clung too tightly to as a child.

Luckily for me, Cort reads my worry and nerves and jumps in before Eddie’s feelings can be hurt.

Besides, I think Eddie prefers to hang with his Dad rather than some dumb neighbor kids any day.

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Cort and Eddie build a fence.

My #TeacherStyle

There are not a ton of pictures of my parents when they were young, but the ones I do find I love to pour over and giggle at the fashions.

(Or, you know, ask my mom if she still has those shoes from 1972 because OMG they would look so awesomely vintage/thrifted with a certain skirt.)

My mom worked part time in a grocery store’s meat department when I was a tiny tot, so she didn’t have to dress “business casual” for anything, although I so very much wish I had a record of all her Sunday outfits. I remember some of them quite distinctly, and my mom usually wore something I thought was very hip or beautiful.

This school year, I have been sporadically participating in Instagram’s #OfficeFashionShow and #TeacherStyle memes.  It’s fun to post what I wear to school and get inspiration from other’s about different looks, color combos, etc.

Plus I think about how much my kids will die laughing when they look back at these pictures someday.

I don’t consider myself to be a super stylish person, and I am for SURE not a Fashion Blogger, but I do like to try to look nice and have the clothes I wear reflect my personality.

Anyway…here are some of the shots I got this school year.  I took them all with my phone in my own shaky hands. And yes, they are all in the staff bathroom.  It’s the only place in my life with a full length mirror (mental note: get a full length mirror at home):

This is one of my favorite shirts. Not because it's my most cute shirt, but because it is SO comfy. It's from the Gap. skirt and leggings from Old Navy.

This is one of my favorite shirts. Not because it’s my most cute shirt, but because it is SO comfy. It’s from the Gap. skirt and leggings from Old Navy.

Another fave: skirt and leggings from Old Navy, shirt from NY & Co.

Another fave: skirt and leggings from Old Navy, shirt from NY & Co.

 

Fridays mean school spirit day! Go Wolves!

Fridays mean school spirit day! Go Wolves!

sweater is from The Gap, pants from NY&Co

I think this was a parent/teacher conference day: sweater is from The Gap, pants from NY&Co

 

Brrr. We had a cold, snowy winter.  Coat is Michael Kors from Younkers

Brrr. We had a cold, snowy winter. Coat is Michael Kors from Younkers

Oh this purple sweater. Since I wore all maternity clothes last school year, I forgot I had this for MONTHS. Both pants and sweater from Gap.

Oh this purple sweater. Since I wore all maternity clothes last school year, I forgot I had this for MONTHS. Both pants and sweater from Gap. Also stink eye.

 

I love this sweater's color, but it needs a "shave". Getting pilly. Ew. It's from...you guessed it...the Gap.

I love this sweater’s color, but it needs a “shave”. Getting pilly. Ew. It’s from…you guessed it…the Gap.

my first pair of skinny jeans!  They are from a Zulily Sale.  Vest and red shirt...yup...Gap.

my first pair of skinny jeans! They are from the Gap. Vest and red shirt…yup…Gap.

 

Casual Friday, yo. probably Gap jeans.

Casual Friday, yo. probably Gap jeans.

Again with the black skirt and leggings.  The sweater is from NY&Co and the scarf was a handmade gift.

Again with the black skirt and leggings. The sweater is from NY&Co and the scarf was a handmade gift.

 

Sweater dresses were my thing this year.  This one was from Yonkers.

Sweater dresses were my thing this year. This one was from Yonkers.

Another great sweater from the Gap. Eddie loves green, so he picked this one for me.

Another great sweater from the Gap. Eddie loves green, so he picked this one for me.

 

Sweater dress!  From the Gap.

Sweater dress! From the Gap.

The red sweater again with a skirt from Anne Taylor Loft.

The red sweater again with a skirt from Anne Taylor Loft.

 

A different black skirt--this pencil one from NY&Co--with a top I got from Zulilly

A different black skirt–this pencil one from NY&Co–with a top I got from Zulilly

Trying to think spring...even though it's still cold. Grey pants and white top from the Gap.

Trying to think spring…even though it’s still cold. Grey pants and white top from the Gap.

 

Crabby day.  Bad hair. These pants I got from the Gap about 3 years ago and I have always loved them.  They will be retired after this year because of a stain and because they are just looking tired.

Crabby day. Bad hair. These pants I got from the Gap about 3 years ago and I have always loved them. They will be retired after this year because of a stain and because they are just looking tired.

black skinnies from a Zulilly sale and green sweater from Old Navy.

black skinnies from a Zulilly sale and green sweater from Old Navy.

 

White linen pants (COME ON, SPRING!) from Gap. not sure where the orange shirt came from.  We'll just say Gap because, well, that is the trend here.

White linen pants (COME ON, SPRING!) from Gap. not sure where the orange shirt came from. We’ll just say Gap because, well, that is the trend here.

The pants that will be retired and a black shirt from, yes, you know.

The pants that will be retired and a black shirt from, yes, you know.

 

It's all Gap.

It’s all Gap. (except the shoes and necklace)

I don’t know if it’s obvious or not, but we have a Gap Outlet about 5 minutes away from my house.  I realize I need to branch out, which is why I have become sort of obsessed with Zulily*. I’d say 98% of the things I get from Zulily are awesome because they are unique and trendy.  Love that.

I am also noticing I need more accessories.  Because duh.

Anyway, this is what I look like as a teacher in 2013.  Maybe I will do a spring/summer version of this post in a few months.

So what are you wearing these days?

*that is an invite link that if you sign up and purchase via that link, I get like free shipping or something.

Forty

I told my students this week that my parents are celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary this weekend.  Most of them were blown away.  A few commented on how awesome that is and how it’s so rare these days.

It is rare.

And it’s extremely awesome.

Forty Years.

They were married in 1973 just three months before my mom turned 20, and just days before my dad turned 23.  So young!  Such babies!

When I was 20, I remember thinking, “my mom was married by this age and I am just in my sophomore year of college with no serious boyfriend.”

I mean, when I was 20? I was ridiculous.  There was no way I could do what my mom did.

She said, “I do” to my dad at an age where I was getting large M’s marked on my hands at concerts and bars and not getting up for a class that was earlier than 10:50am.

She took on budgeting and keeping house at an age when I was still bringing my laundry home for her to do for me.

She was meal-planning and comparing meat prices at an age when I was deciding between buying Ramen noodles or that pint of Popov Vodka.

You get the point.  I can’t even begin to imagine giving up college, getting hitched, and becoming a housewife at age 20.  It is just not for me at all.

But my mom did it.

I don’t know much about what their first few years married was like.  I imagine it wasn’t that much different than mine and Cort’s first few years.  So excited to buy that first house and move in together.  Overcome with giddy silliness each time they realize that this is it.  The real deal.  No one has to go home at the end of the evening.  Concerned about the tightness of money and how to pay the bills and save.  Dreamy about what the future would be like.

I wonder at times…did they sit and dream like Cort and I do?

In those five years before they had kids, did my parents wonder about their future kids?  Think of names?  Talk about all the places they would love to travel to?  Did they sit outside with a glass of wine and talk about their dream house or dream jobs?

And once I arrived, did they stare at me in wonder like we did with Eddie?  Did they shake their head in amazement that they were actually someone’s parents? Did they worry about my future and if they were messing me up?

Once their family was complete, how did they know?  Did they settle in to raising their kids up?  What did they talk about after we kids were tucked away to bed each night?  Did they share a laugh over something one of us did that we took very seriously?  Did they discuss how they would handle the “sex talk” and puberty and boyfriends/girlfriends and getting a driver’s license and college choices and and and…

Did they ever foresee the not-so-awesome choices that we would make?  Did they cry over us?

I know they prayed over and about us.

What I do know is that in the 35 years that I have been part of that marriage, I have never seen them scream-fight at each other.

I have never heard either say anything hurtful or ugly about the other.

I have never heard them disagree about money.

I have never seen them physically hurt each other.

I have never witnessed them cut the other just to do it and watch the other person hurt.

I have many times heard my dad tell my mom what an excellent cook she is.

I have had my mom tell me to ask my dad because he knows a lot about that specific topic and could be a great help.

I have many time seen my dad hug and kiss my mom…especially after dinner…much to our kid-disgust (ewww!!!!)

I have seen them stand by each other in the face of a screaming teenager.

I have had my mom comfort me when my dad just didn’t understand my teenage girl crazy.  But she never put him down.

I have had my dad comfort me when my mom and I clashed due to my teenage girl crazy.  But he never said she was wrong.

They play up each other’s strengths and they cover each other’s weaknesses.

My mom encourages my dad to be the leader that he can be.

My dad encourages my mom to be the nurturer that she can be.

My mom reels my dad in.

My dad throws out my mom’s line a bit.

My mom is what I think of when I read about the Virgin Mary in the Bible.  I believe she loved being a mother.  She cherished all the things about her son in her heart and she honored her husband.  My mom is the same way.

My dad is what I think of when I read about the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son.  Instead of dwelling on our mistakes, he rejoices in our victories.  He is giving and loving with his family.

My parents are not perfect.

They do argue.  They do disagree.  They make mistakes.

But they get through it.

For 40 years.

And for the rest of their lives.

Happy anniversary, mom and dad.  You are truly the best example of marriage that I have been blessed to witness. Your love, devotion, and faithfulness have influenced me more than you know.  Thank you.

They're cute, right?

They’re cute, right?

When Kids Happen To Your Marriage

I have mentioned before that marriage is hard work.  Love is easy, but marriage.  That is hard.

Cortney and I never argue about money.  We never argue about who was supposed to do that one chore.  We never even argue about things like socks on the floor or leaving the toilet seat up.

Before we got married, we sorted these things out.  We quite literally sat down and made decisions about stuff as big as finances and budgeting to small things like who is in charge of which chores.  We compromised on things like the location of the dirty laundry basket so that socks and undies wouldn’t get tossed on the floor instead of put in the basket. And we both agreed that toilets come with a lid for a reason…to be closed when not in use (plus we had a cat at the time and no one wanted to deal with walking in the aftermath of a midnight splash fest).

The one thing that causes tension in our marriage is parenting.

I never feel so far away from Cortney as when we have just disagreed or misunderstood each other in terms of how the other is (or isn’t) handling a parenting situation. And I feel pretty confident he feels the same way about me.

I remember when I was raging with undiagnosed postpartum mood disorders, I wondered if I could ever like him again.

Sure, I loved him.  Loved him like crazy.  Had my heart melted every time I saw him being gentle and kind and fatherly with Eddie.  Every time Eddie snuggled and slept on him.  Every minute I loved Cort.

But I when the baby was screaming and he couldn’t fix it, I didn’t like him.

And I am positive that he didn’t like me.  I mean, I was screaming and throwing things at him for doing “it” wrong.  And neither of us knew what “it” was that he was doing wrong.

I know that  makes no sense; welcome to PPD! Weeeeee!

But seriously, when I was finally diagnosed, properly medicated, and going to therapy, I thought all those Blerg feelings would go away.  The ragey totally illogical, irrational dislike went away.

But certain tensions didn’t go away.

Since Charlie is small and easy, we generally don’t disagree on anything with that guy, but with Eddie? Let’s just say that so far, he is our challenge.  He has my personality (to a fault, unfortunately) and while Cort has learned how to deal with my moods and such (and I am better able to use my words when I am upset), he is not as adept at fielding Eddie’s explosions.

Not that I am either, I just understand where they are coming from better.  Usually. I mean, kids are weirdos, so sometimes he is a total mystery to me too.

Let’s see…here is an example…

Last night I went to put Eddie to bed.  Cort had gotten him a new nightlight and was putting it in his room while I supervised teeth brushing and such.  When it was time to go in his room and crawl in bed, he walked over to his new nightlight and fiddled with it.  It got messed up.

We call daddy down to see if he could fix it.  I told Eddie to get in bed.  He didn’t. I told him again.  He didn’t.  I told him he was going to lose book privileges and he finally, all sobby-like, crawled into bed.  At the same time, Cort announced the nightlight didn’t work and he would go get the old one.

Eddie lost his mind.

There was scream-crying and ridiculousness.

I knew he was upset because he believed he broke his new thing.  He was sad that his new thing didn’t work.  I told him it would be Ok; that daddy would either fix it or get him a new one tomorrow.

He didn’t stop crying, and he never once used his words to actually explain to me what was wrong.  He just got screamy.  And sobby.

He didn’t want to read books with  me; he didn’t even want me to be there.  The only thing he would say was, “Daddy.”

So I gave up and got Cortney.

I could tell he was annoyed that he was being asked to do bedtime yet again, but Eddie was having a fit and I thought he wanted Cort as comfort.

So Eddie is downstairs crying his face off…loudly, and Cort is sitting calmly in his chair with the information that Eddie would like him to come down.

And he sits.  And Eddie cries. And Cort sits.  And Eddie cries.

“Did you want me to go back down?” I ask.

“No.” He says as he logs in (or off, not sure) to his laptop.

I stand and watch him; he sits and pays no attention. Eddie, this whole time, sounds as if he has a flesh-eating disease.

“So are you going to go down or what?” I ask impatiently.

And that is when he explodes.  Or, since Cort never explodes, he gets all firm and grouchy with me.  “Yes, Kate. I am going. I’m just giving him a chance to get it out of his system. I can listen to it from here or in his room, and I would rather not sit there with him screaming…” and he trails off as he angrily descends the stairs to put his computer away and tend to the Screamer.

And the tension arrives.

I lie down for a bit to lick my wounds.  I know he was justified in being annoyed, plus with a screamy child, everything is at a heightened stress level.

At the same time, I am not a mind-reader and I didn’t know why he was just sitting there while our little guy freaked the frack out downstairs.  I felt he needed comfort and someone to explain to him that the nightlight situation was not life and death.  I didn’t feel that Cort had enough urgency.

He didn’t feel the situation warranted urgency.

We were both right.  And wrong.  And whatever.

In the end, he chilled Eddie out, read a few books, and got him to sleep.

I wrote a blog post.

We talked about it.  We know tensions ran high and that we snapped at each other because we didn’t use our communication skills in the moment.

As much as we agree and collaborate on almost everything, we still have moments of miscommunication or failure to communicate all together when it comes to parenting.

We are a team.  A good one.  We have more wins than losses.  But it doesn’t come easily.

I would say the biggest challenge in our marriage is being parents together.

The good news is we are always working on it.

The better news is that we are a committed team.  We are in this for the long, forever haul.

April 15, 2013

Monday, April 15 was anything but normal,  but as it goes with those who don’t live in the center of the abnormal but have small, current-event-oblivious-children, it was totally normal in Sluiter Nation.

We worked. We had daycare. We had a rampant case of the Mondays.  We came home and tripped over each other while dinner was  made.  It was…typical.

Cort was in the kitchen making chicken. I was trying to occupy Charlie so he didn’t turn into a hungry dictator before dinner was ready and Eddie was playing on the computer busy writing his “stories”.

The news was on because obviously.

We never thought about the news being on.  It is always on this time of day.  Charlie has never cared about TV and Eddie has lately been having his screen time while dinner is prepared, so the news is on because it’s not a kid show, but it’s also not something that will slip foul language.  It seemed neutral.

Until Monday, April 15.

“Mom, what is that ‘splosion?” he asked over my shoulder.

I turned to see Eddie looking intently at the TV coverage with a puzzled face. “Did someone drop a bomb? Did those people running get hurt?  Are they helping people?  Did someone go to Heaven?”

The questions came fast, but calmly. He sat next to me on the floor never taking his eyes off the TV that I was willing to just shut off by itself.

It didn’t and even though I felt like a total mom fail for allowing him to see this sort of tragedy, I tried to explain.

“Yes, buddy. It looks like someone let a bomb explode by all those people who were running a race. And yes, it hurt people. And yes, some of them died and went to Heaven. And YES, those people you see running? Are trying to help the hurt people.”

“That’s good. We need people to help people.”

And then he went back to what he was doing.

Dinner was soon ready and the local news had moved on to weather and sports and less heavy topics.  Eddie brought up the ‘splosion a couple more times, but didn’t seem scared or fearful.  In fact, knowing that people were helping people seemed to be what was most important to him.  That and that those who died went to Heaven with God and his Papa and his cat.

He is three.

He brings up death a lot, but not in a fearful or worried way.  He seems to just want to know about it.

And because communication is important to Cort and me, we encourage our boys (well, Eddie right now), to ask us anything at all that they may be thinking about.  This has come in the form of how seeds grow to why plants and trees die to why girls have a vagina and not a penis.

Someone recently asked me if Eddie is in the “why” stage.  I guess yes and no, but he mostly makes observations and then asks “what? where? when? how? who? and why?”  He asks all of them

I don’t feel like I spend a ton of time answering just “why?”  We mostly have conversations.

On Monday he didn’t ask why someone would bomb other people, but when we were having the conversation about it Cort and I did say the bomb hurt lots of people and to us, it seemed like a really awful thing to do to someone else.

Eddie agreed, “yeah, because hurting people is so so SO mean, right guys?”

Right, bud.

So maybe I am a mom fail for letting my son see the news, and we did our best to limit it the rest of the week.  But in the end, he felt comfortable talking with us about it and wasn’t afraid or worrisome.

I’m not sure that I could call it the right thing or claim some parenting strategy here, but I will say that his reaction to the whole thing helped me know we are doing something right with our parenting.

He asked questions, he told us what he thought, and we had a conversation that left him satisfied, but not afraid.

I’m still sorry that he saw it and that he now knows about that level of evil, but I’m proud of him for asking questions and responding the way he did.

green undies and what is missing

“You know,” he told Eddie as he dried him off and helped him into his Green Lantern underwear, “Papa Steve had green underpants too.”

A smile spread across Cort’s lips and the rare twinkle appeared in his eye as he shared this small piece of memory with his oldest son.

“He called them his Green Hornets,” he finished with a smirk tugging at his dimples.

As Eddie and I giggled, I saw that elusive twinkle in Cort’s eye gleam brighter for just a second it go out with a snap.

I swallowed hard as a lump caught in my throat and tears burned in the corner of my eyes.

It was ridiculous that a brief recollection about underwear would make me miss him so much.  Would remind me of what Cort was missing so much each and every day.

I know these things should make us smile.  And it does make us smile.

But it’s also a stinging reminder of what is missing.

Cort has fathered two sons…just like his dad.

I’ve heard him call Eddie his Number 1 son and Charlie his Number 1 Young Son…just like his dad did with him and his younger brother Cody.

He’s told Eddie lots of little things…like the green undies…about his dad and each time it is bittersweet.

He is a dad without a dad.

I take for granted the fact that I can call up my mom with funny stories about the boys and jog her memory about mothering littles.  I get to hear her tell me about her perspective from when she was in the trenches like I am.

Cort doesn’t get his dad’s perspective on raising boys.

I cry to my mom about the tough parts of motherhood and ask questions about how she and my dad did it.

Cort remembers as best as he can and gets his mom’s input, but he doesn’t get to ask his dad what was tough about being a father.

Last summer I sat back with my mom at a cottage my parents rented for the family. It was one of many cottages we had frequented as a family when my brothers and I were little.  She and I talked about how relaxing is different with small kids around.  We joked and cracked a beer as I watched Eddie run around with his uncles while Charlie entertained his aunts.

Cort doesn’t get to kick back with his dad and a beer on the family boat they spent weekends on when he was a kid.  He doesn’t get to recall the trips to various marinas up and down the West Coast of Michigan.

As children life looks a lot different to us.

I have found one of my favorite activities to do with my parents is remember all the memories we made.  My parents are always amazed at what my brothers and I remember…and how our memories compare to what they experienced alongside us.

Cort doesn’t get to do this with his dad.

My relationship with my mom changed when I became a mother.  It was subtle and slight, but there was a shift.

We had a new connection.  A new something-in-common.

We were both mothers.

She has much she can share with me and I have much I can learn from her.

Cort never had that shift with his dad.

He never got to share the sameness.

He never saw his dad as a Grandpa and, maybe more difficult, his dad never got to see Cort as a Dad.

Cortney is not a story-teller by nature.

I am still learning stories about his childhood–mostly from his sister and his mom, but sometimes from him.

When his memories are sparked,  the twinkle in his eye gleams, and the dimple in his cheek deepens, I know it will be a memory about his dad.

Even if it’s about the Green Hornets.

*************

Cort and I have decided to start a Relay for Life Team in Memory of Papa Steve.  I have never done it before, but I think you can join our team, donate, or…um…I am not sure.  Our goal is $250 and my personal goal is $100.  So far it’s just me on the team, so I have some work to do.  Anyway, this is the link to my page if you are interested in helping out.

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